A jumble of people that you love
by charliethedreamer
Summary: Captain Swan: Prompt fill from tumblr where fluffy family feels were requested.


_A/N: Prompt fill from Tumblr that I decided to post here. Enjoy :)_

* * *

It's a mess.

The whole living room section of the loft, a mess of board games and _more _board games and dice and blankets and empty popcorn bowls and Killian just watches, marvelling over it – over _them_, all of them – just so bloody _normal._

"Ha! I win." The victor's cry comes from Henry – Killian had been sure to make sure the dice in the Snakes and Ladders set _weren't _loaded (he never should have taught him that) – and his _aunt _– okay, maybe they're _not _so normal – pouts, huffing and crossing her arms in a way that reminds him distinctly of the blonde lying between his legs.

David returns from the kitchen with three cold beers, handing one to his wife and moving round to give one to Killian before taking the last for himself. He then sits down in the second arm chair – the sofa being taken up by the saviour and the pirate's stretched out forms – turning his head towards the movie that plays mostly as background noise to the comfortable family affair.

"Can I have one?" Henry asks hopefully, eyes following the way Killian tips back his bottle.

"_No." _Emma says in a tired but nevertheless stern voice, not even opening her eyes to regulate the state of underage drinking in her former apartment. Henry looks up to Killian from where he sits cross legged on the floor, pouting at him in a way he _knows _makes his already much lower than Emma's resolve crumble.

"You heard your mother." He says, sub-consciously wrapping his legs further around his wife, stroking her swollen belly with a sock adorned foot. Henry looks at him – playing the _poor deprived _sixteen year old_ – _and he winks, his step-son grinning at the action that means one way or another, he's going to get his way.

But then Emma speaks up – voice growing more groggy by the second because pregnancy is tiring her, as much as she hates to admit it – "Don't." She says, turning slightly to nuzzle her head further into his lower stomach, hand coming up to fiddle with one of the buttons of his open button down.

"Don't what?" He asks, running his hands through her hair and pausing to fiddle with one half of the set of earrings he got her for her birthday.

"Don't wink at him and get him a beer when I've fallen asleep." He resists the urge to laugh, seeing her state is having _no_ effect on her skills of perception.

He shakes his head lightly to himself more than anyone else, leaning further back into the couch. "I have no idea what you're talking about." He says, eyes flicking to Henry who smiles guiltily whilst rolling the dice for his first go in the third – fourth? – round of snakes and ladders with little Eva who grins when he scores a particularly low roll.

"Sure." Emma replies, reaching up and tangling her fingers with those of her husband.

He brings their entwined fingers to his lips before resting his forehead against them, the cool metal of their wedding rings rubbing against his forehead and he would give anything – _anything – _to just live in this moment forever. The thought that maybe he won't have to give up everything – that he _can, _to an extent – is one that makes his lips curve into a smile. The idea that this moment – with Henry and Eva both attempting foul play on a board game, his wife curled up in front of him, the Charmings, his bloody _parents in law – _that it's one of many lazy Friday nights making his heart – the one he'd thought was _black _and _wasted – _swell and he places one more kiss to his Swan's knuckles before bringing their hands back to his chest.

"I love you." He murmurs, stroking her fingers with his thumb and smiling wider when she mumbles _I love you too _into his shirt.

He looks to Henry – sees Emma in his jaw and his defiant nature – and to Eva – seeing glimpses of Mary Margaret in her eyes and David in the dark blonde hair that her mother has tied into a neat ponytail – and he wonders with another glance down to his love, wondering what features of their little boy – because they were both too impatient not to find out the gender – will possess.

He wonders if he'll have Emma's hair and his eyes, or the other way round, if he'll be as bloody stubborn and have the same talent for trouble. If one look – one well timed look or raise of the eyebrows – will cause him to crumble like it does with Emma.

He smiles at the thought, thinking of a little boy with a bright smile in the mix with the rest of them, playing board games and laughing and pouting and teasing with Henry and Eva and he feels his eyes slip shut, fingers still entwined with hers. He hopes – he _knows _– that whatever happens, he'll always have this. This chaotic and messy and seemingly always falling into trouble jumble of people that he _loves._

His family.


End file.
